


All That's Dead And Gone And Passed Tonight

by notalone91



Series: LoserFest 2021 [13]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Inspired by The Hunger Games, M/M, Married Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, The Losers Club All Appear (IT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91
Summary: Richie Tozier won the 69th Annual Hunger Games.  Eddie Kaspbrak won the 70th.  On the eve of the announcement of the Quarter Quell, Eddie is plagued by nightmares.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: LoserFest 2021 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138544
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	All That's Dead And Gone And Passed Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Day 13 - Inspired by A Taylor Swift Movie Role or Soundtrack Credit (Safe & Sound, The Hunger Games OST)
> 
> (I’m cherry picking details from the movies and books again. The non-consequential Big Change if you’re familiar with The Hunger Games, I’m going with 1 & 2 being the career districts, like the movie. Bill is NOT a career just like Finnick is NOT a career.)

Every year, as the reapings drew closer, the victors throughout the districts of Derry found themselves reliving their horror. Another reaping meant another child that they were going to have to watch die. President Gray was an overwhelming theme in those nightmares. His garish, clownlike makeup and sharpened teeth made him the perfect leading man for a good, old fashioned nightmare. 

With it being a quarter quell year, the rules of the game were going to change.

In the middle of a silent, snowy night, Richie Tozier, winner of the 69th Hunger Games was awakened by his husband’s thrashing. “No! No! You can’t! We already-” He rolled over, then gave Eddie some distance. They both knew that, in these nightmares, it was best to get out of the line of fire. “We both won our games! We’re of age! We’re-”

Even though it was approaching 5 years from his victory, Eddie was still plagued by the mere thought of the reaping. “Eds, wake up,” Richie said, sitting up at the foot of their bed. He shook his leg lightly. Hey, Eds, wake up.” He hated seeing him like this. Sure, it had affected both of them, but he- he slept most nights. Eddie didn’t.

“No! Richie!” Eddie cried, wrenching his right hand into the sheet. He writhed and tossed as though restrained. “Richie! Let him go! Let-”

Caution thrown to the wind, Richie climbed onto Eddie’s legs and shook his shoulders, rousing him. Eddie flailed a few more times, then opened his eyes. Richie eased. “Hey. You’re okay, babe,” he leaned down and brushed his sweat-matted hair off of his forehead. “Another reaping dream?” Carefully, he assessed where Eddie was in his normal post-nightmare process. This time was bad. He was still breathing heavily and digging his nails into Richie’s side. “Hey, breathe. In and out,” he coached, trying to calm him. It worked well enough, he supposed, but it was still obvious that Eddie was struggling. He urged him to repeat the breaths again. “There we go.” Once the initial wave of panic was over and he started to put it all together, Eddie broke down in tears. Richie scooped him into his arms and held him tightly against his chest. “Okay. It’s okay. I’m here,” he soothed. “You’re in our bed. We’re safe. It’s over.” He rocked him back and forth gently, repeating, “It’s over. We’re okay.” He thought over the grounding exercises he’d been taught when Eddie first came home and remembered a quick, easy one. “What do you see?” he asked.

From where he was, face pressed into Richie’s neck, he answered a watery, “I see you.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Richie said, loosening his grip a little and letting his husband pull back to look at their bedroom. “Find me three pictures,” he prompted.

Eddie’s eyes darted from charcoal-colored wall to charcoal colored wall. He found one, on the wall by the door. They were younger. Richie stood behind him pressing a kiss to the crook of his neck. The bandages on his left arm were so fresh, it was clearly before they’d even fitted him for his first prosthetic. “You and me on my victory tour,” he noted. “Penny,” he said, glancing at the tiny picture of their tiny, fluffy puppy on the nightstand. 

Third picture. He tried to focus but couldn’t come up with anything. He glanced around and settled on a sterling frame on his dresser. “Our Wedding,” he said, calming as a memory of the day the previous summer washed over him. The Capitol had insisted on televising the whole affair. The only reason he was okay with that was that it meant that they got to see their victor friends from other Districts. Eddie was the youngest victor of their close-knit circle. Ben from 3, Bill from 4, Beverly from 8, Mike and Stan from 7, had all won in the years surrounding Richie and Eddie’s astounding back to back victories from 12. 

Beverly had won first. She was reaped at 12 and outwitted everyone, managing to kill off 4 careers with just a slingshot. Once she entered Capitol society, however, she was used as a bargaining chip, passed around at parties like a tray of hors d’oeuvres. 

Bill had been the following year. His brother had been reaped, but since he was only 12, Bill wouldn’t stand for it. He volunteered in his stead and fought like hell to make his way back to him.

It didn’t much matter. The following year, little Georgie was reaped for the same games as Richie. He’d done well, making it out of the cornucopia and hiding out for days. Richie had been, subconsciously keeping an eye on him. He hadn’t known what he was going to do if it came down to just the two of them. Luckily, he didn’t have to make a decision. As Georgie was out foraging, a girl from 1 saw him and, before Richie could get his blowgun to his lips, she’d cut him in half with her ax. That girl was Richie’s only kill. In the last skirmish, one of the tributes from 3 had rigged a flash bomb that had nearly blinded Richie. The problem was, the other tributes, including the saboteur, were too close. They’d all been electrocuted. He hadn’t known how many were left at that point, so he was sure that the canon blasts he heard included him. It wasn’t until he woke up, new glasses as thick as bulletproof glass balanced on his nose, that he realized he’d won.

Next came Eddie. Richie had had a crush on Eddie since forever. Like hell, he was going to let him die. Their train ride to the Capitol had been terrifying, but Richie swore to himself that he would focus all of his time and energy on him. He was the only mentor for 12. The only winner to ever come from there. The girl was assigned one of the many older victors from 2 so he didn’t have to worry about her. They’d trained hard enough during that Richie was confident in Eddie’s abilities, but not hard enough to wear him out. At night, Richie worked hard at securing sponsors. When Richie had brought Eddie down to the launch room on the morning of the first day, Eddie saw it. He needed to fight. He needed to come home for Richie. 

Eddie was the only one to find himself in an alliance. He’d darted into the cornucopia and come out with a case of throwing knives and a backpack full of food and was gone before anyone knew what had happened. The girl tribute from 1 was older. She was smart and good with a bow. Eddie was fast and had wicked aim with throwing knives. She wanted nothing to do with the other careers. Eddie knew that her plan was to kill him as soon as the numbers were low enough, but he was the only one who seemed to be enough of a threat to help her win. When they were down to the final 6, Eddie had gone to find some potable water, when he heard footsteps behind him. The creak of a bow. After being wounded in an ambush the night before, he had known it wouldn’t be long before she picked him off. It was time, apparently. He spun on his heel and launched his knife. With deadly aim, it landed in her throat, killing her nearly instantly. 

In the mentors’ room, Richie had thrown up as soon as he realized what the girl was planning. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t watch. He leaned into Bev, who had been his first mentor friend, and sobbed. Luckily, the cameras had been in to interview Don Hagarty, winner of the 60th Hunger Games, and witnessed the breakdown. Interested in making good TV, they quickly pivoted to find out what was going on with Richie just in time to hear him whimper “I think I love him, Bev. I can’t watch him die.” Within minutes, there were sponsors' offers whirling around for Eddie. The first thing to come in was a salve that, while it wasn’t enough to save Eddie’s wounded arm, it had been enough to keep him going through the final day. The rest of his games had been quick, with 3 taken out in a landslide at the same time. A wildfire chased him back to the cornucopia. A herd of muttated sharks chased the boy from 2 from the water opposite side. He was losing ground on them. He cried out to Eddie. “Help me! Help me or kill me! Please! I don’t want to die like this!” he begged. With a flick of his good wrist, he loosed the knife that named him Victor of the 70th Hunger Games.

Mike had followed. His games had been the shortest on record. He was strong, tall, and on the older end of the range for the tributes. As soon as he got his hands on an ax, all of the mentors knew it was over. Eddie had watched in horror as his and Richie’s tributes, a 12-year-old girl and an 18-year-old boy died in the bloodbath, despite being specifically told to run. 

That night was the first reaping nightmare. The boy had been Richie and he’d had to train him and watched him die, crying out for him. The next morning, he proposed. He didn’t want to spend another moment without him.

After Mike came Ben. Ben was not a favorite to win. He was heavy-set and slow. He had cried from the moment they called his name. Usually, 3 had volunteers eager for glory. Instead, the boy behind him had laughed when his name was called. That laugh echoed through the crowd. But that laugh sparked a rage in him. He was fearless in the arena. He spent much of the first 2 days setting traps. Every time a cannon went off after the bloodbath in those early days, it was one of Ben’s. 

Quickly, the odds grew in his favor. Even Bev, terribly jaded by the whole thing at this point had started using her influence and beauty to earn him sponsors since the old woman from 1 he’d been assigned was absolutely useless. She had won the 5th Annual Hunger Games at 18. She had been ruthless in her day. But she had grown old and gray. Bev couldn’t allow this boy who was trying so hard to go down without a fair shot.

Despite the last victor from 7 having the shortest games on record, Stan would have the longest. He lived in the treetops for a whole week, only coming down to forage for berries. He was good at forestry and had immense wildlife knowledge. Mike had watched with bated breath. He had known Stanley a long time. They’d talked about his games at length. He had been an immense help. It went without saying that they’d grown closer and closer in time. Richie’s heart broke for him. He understood the helplessness. It wasn’t until the final four that he was forced to come down by an earthquake followed by a raging overgrowth of muttated Poison Ivy began growing at a rapid pace. He found himself face to face with one of the remaining tributes who appeared to be lunging to bite him. Stanley kicked him, hard, into the rushing water. The other two picked each other off in some battle of strength. It wasn’t until he was being lifted out of the arena that he realized he’d won.

In the 74th Annual Hunger Games, a young boy, a career won. His older cousin had won the year before Bev and manipulated him into volunteering at 12. He’d coached him and parlayed him into the favorite. He’d specifically gone after the tributes that were mentored by the most recent winners, ritualistically carving Ls into their bodies before they were lifted out.

After such a brutal, sadistic game, the Capitol and President Gray decided that there needed to be a distraction. They called on Richie and Eddie, promising to leave them out of the party cycles for the rest of their lives if they allowed their wedding to become the spectacle of the century. All they needed to do was show up.

Show up, they did. The garish print on their suits, the wild hairstyles. It was a circus. But it didn’t matter. They were together with friends that they never got to see without the looming threat of 23 dead children hanging over them. 

It even came to light that so many of the recent Victors were in romantic relationships, as though it was anything less than common knowledge among those involved with the Games and the Victors. Ben and Bev had been caught in the coat check room. Stan and Mike had spent the week avoiding each other but, during the ceremony, one eagle-eyed reporter had spotted a shared glance, then a hushed conversation in the hallway, ending with a gentle kiss.

Bill had snuck a photo of them from the back of the train before they headed onto their honeymoon. They were back in their clothes, holding each other and waving. The Capitol cameras weren’t allowed on the train, fearing footage of the consummation of their nuptials, but since they were spending time on the warm beaches of 4, Bill had hitched a ride along with. He’d snapped a quick glimpse of the men from behind, through the window, hands clasped and looking all in love with the sunset in the distance, bathing them in light. It was Eddie’s favorite and it never left his dresser.

“Good. Two green things,” Richie prompted, moving his hands to Eddie’s shoulders and rubbing them gently.

Calming into his touch, Eddie answered. “My cologne and the bedspread.”

Out of ideas, he laughed and moved to let Eddie out from under him. “One massive dickhead?” Eddie laughed and leaned up to kiss him. “Do you want to tell me what this one was about?”

He didn’t. He really, really didn’t, but he knew he had to. He wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep if he didn’t get it out of his system. “Quarter quell. The rule change,” he said quietly. He took Richie’s hand in his and stared at the way they interlaced, reminding himself that they were there and they were together and they were okay. “The change was that the pool of tributes were all picked from past victors. They made us both go.” Shaking his head, he willed the constricting muscles in his throat to relax. Still, he started crying again. ”They wouldn’t let us say goodbye. They just-” He buried his face in Richie’s chest once more, weeping. 

“That’s not gonna happen,” he said, not the least bit sure of that himself. He knew that the districts were growing restless. He knew that every interview he gave or Bill gave or Bev gave made the Capitol more and more uneasy. Still, he had to believe, for Eddie’s sake, that that wouldn’t happen. “Look at me. Babe, I’m not going anywhere. They wouldn’t do-”

“They could, though,” he insisted. It stood to reason that they were getting too comfortable. “They could! We have so much more to lose now. And we couldn’t do anything about it. “

Richie sighed and laid back, dragging Eddie with him. "After everything they’ve put us through, they wouldn’t do that. The Capitol has-”

“The Capitol has every capability of doing anything they want if it serves their purpose, Richie.” He stared at the ceiling, trying to will himself not to worry about it. “If Gray thinks it’s going to make The Districts more compliant, he’ll do it.” He’d been thinking about it a lot recently. There had been talk for the past few games, since Ben, that it was time to end it. Now, with the Quell upon them, he was sure. “They have to be stopped.”

Richie rolled onto his side and trailed his fingers gently across his husband’s chest. “Think about it, Eds. We’re too valuable to them. They wouldn’t know what to talk about if it wasn’t who I was going to offend next or what medical assistance device you were going to come up with. They certainly made enough money off of the videos from the beach to remind them that they need us.” He laughed, remembering how fast Eddie had run through the surf to escape the interloper. “The people love us too much.”

“I love you too much,” Eddie said, trying to do away with the image of Richie being beaten and dragged to his separate room, if his dream came to pass.

Leaning in to kiss his husband, Richie sighed. “That goes without saying.” He kissed him again, running his hands up through his too-long hair. He’d decided that he wasn’t going to cut it until he could do it himself. He was getting there, but the mechanics of his prosthetic just weren’t there yet. Close. He hated to admit it, but he was going to miss being able to run his fingers through it like this. “I love you more than I ever thought I could. You know how they work. We are Derry’s sweethearts, until they get bored and move on to Ben and Bev.”

Eddie paused, milling it over. That was a possibility, for sure, but he had a better Idea. “My money’s on Mike and Stan.” He had a point. Bev was too controversial. Ben, while sweet and captivating, didn’t have the strength and valor that Mike did. And Stan was funny. They’d pulled him in to commentate on the previous year's games and the Capitol loved every second of it.

“See? They parade us out anytime things get rough because our love wasn’t supposed to happen.” Eddie made a face, but Richie continued. “Back to back victors from an outer district should never happen. But they got so invested in watching me lose my shit over you that they couldn’t help but be supportive when you made it out, too.”

Even though Richie meant well, it still stung. “You know, knowing that I wasn’t supposed to make it out of the arena while I'm worried about having to go back in isn’t helpful.” He laughed, because it was true. But being in the situation in question certainly gave a different perspective.

Shaking his head, Richie quickly swerved. “Oh no, you were absolutely supposed to make it out of the arena.” He sat up and tugged Eddie up to follow him. “Look, I was the only mentor who had any faith in any of the tributes. Even the career mentors said it was a toss. Bev hadn’t even bothered to learn her girl’s name.”

Still, not helpful. That made it sound like, if anyone else had been halfway decent, he’d be dead and Richie would- he didn’t want to think about it. Richie would be alone. Probably drunk, at least. He closed his eyes. He tried not to remember the way Richie had nearly broken the door to his room in the infirmary down. 

“I just…” he couldn’t bear to look at Richie. He didn’t want it to sound like he was ungrateful. He loved Richie. Richie had moved mountains for him, and somehow he felt guilty. “I still hear the boy from 4. He was so small. And Bill was so-”

“Need I remind you that the little shit was coming at you with a grenade full of TrackerJacker venom?” Richie wasn’t making excuses. It was the truth. “You did what you had to do. Everyone who goes into that arena does what they have to do.” Eddie moved to get out of the bed, beginning the process of securing his prosthetic and attempting to tune Richie out. “You got out. And you came home to me. And, yes,” Richie continued, moving around to kneel in front of him so that there was no avoiding him, “Bill had taken a shine to that little boy, but it was probably just because of Georgie.” Eddie swallowed hard and looked away. He didn’t want to think about that. “They picked that little boy’s name two years in a row and Bill couldn’t protect him the second go-round. I’d be willing to bet that he was projecting. He hasn’t reacted like that since. All of his tributes have been older.” It didn’t matter what Richie said, that didn’t absolve him of his own guilt. “If you want, I will call him right now just to prove it. He won’t appreciate it-” he looked up at the clock on the wall, then realized he was probably in a similar state to Eddie right about now, if he wasn’t being offered to a string of Capitol elite. “Well, actually, he’ll probably be awake, too,” he groaned. It certainly was a fucked up way to live. “Look, the point I was so poorly trying to demonstrate is that, no matter what, we’ll make it out. We’ve done it before.” He gave a weak smile that Eddie hardly returned.

He stood up, bringing Richie to his feet with him. Having sprung up another inch since they got married, there was now a considerable height difference and on nights like this, Eddie appreciated it more than he could ever say. It made him feel safe, like no one could touch him if Richie’s arms were around him and, more often than not, they were. 

“I wouldn’t let them take you away from me,” he said, voice muffled by Richie’s sweater. “Just because they’ve never had two winners doesn’t mean they couldn’t.”

There was the optimism Richie had been looking for. “Right. But you’d have to promise me-” he said, realizing that, maybe, just maybe, they shouldn’t dismiss it outright, “If your nightmare somehow comes true and that’s the quarter rule change. You fight.” He pulled back, making sure that Eddie was listening to him. “You fight like hell, no matter what happens to me.”

Eddie looked up at him, brows knitted. “Could you do it? Do you honestly think that you’d be able to go into that arena married and leave me in there?” Richie didn’t dare respond. Especially when he knew that the answer was a resounding no. Eddie didn’t even give him the chance to lie. “I didn’t think so. And all of our friends-” He remembered watching their games. He knew that they didn’t stand a chance against any of them. Now, with age and experience and something to fight for, it would be a melee. “We’d have to kill them, too. Or they’d kill us.” He looked up at Richie and shook his head. “And with your eyes…”

“What about your arm?” Richie pointed out. If it wasn’t responsive enough to allow him to cut his hair, how could he be expected to make it through all of the demands any arena put out. Stan’s year would have put him out for the count. There was no way Eddie was climbing trees.

“My prosthetic works just fine, thank you,” he said, jaw tensing slightly. And he was close to a breakthrough with the wiring. He could, if he needed to, push himself to get his shit together and finish it before the reaping.

Richie shook his head. “As good as your arm did?” 

“I throw with my right, asshole,” Eddie answered, over-enunciating to make his point. “At least I’d be able to see where I was throwing. You planning to echolocate your targets for your blowgun?” The corner of his lips twisted into a smile, signaling that he was no longer invested in this fight.

Lifting his eyebrows suggestively, Richie said, very quietly, voice almost a growl. “You know just how good my mouth is. I don’t need to aim anymore, baby.” A shiver chased Eddie’s spine. That wasn’t the direction he thought the conversation was heading. He couldn’t imagine anyone else making him feel like that. “You’ve given me plenty of practice keeping those muscles. How would you-” 

Suddenly, Eddie was in tears again. Richie closed his eyes and pulled him in close, one strong hand cradling the back of his head as the other rubbed small circles on his back. Eddie clung to him. “But it’s not gonna happen. It won’t,” Richie urged.

“You can’t know that. You can’t-”

“And you can’t know that anything’s gonna go wrong!” Richie argued, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“What about your life has led you to believe that we should feel comfortable now? That we might ever be safe?” Eddie sniffled.

That was a loaded question, he knew, but Richie had the answer for it. “Easy. I have you.” 

Later that night, Eddie sat waiting as the Capitol broke through the regularly scheduled programming, projecting President Gray and head Game Maker Bachman into their living room, live and in living color. “It’s on,” he called. 

Richie came into the room from the kitchen leaned against the edge of the couch, his arms folded. Eddie linked his arm around Richie’s leg and gripped it tight. He glanced up at Richie, focusing only on the pulsing in his jaw. He was nervous. He was angry. All Eddie could feel was fear.

Once the thunderous applause from the vapid assholes of the Capitol died down, Gray began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen. This is the 75th year of the Hunger Games and it was written in the charter of the games that every twenty-five years, there will be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh, for each new generation, the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol.” Richie released a sharp puff of air and shook his head. “Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by games of a special significance, and now, on this, the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell.” The crowd in the Capitol went wild. President Gray allowed it for a moment, then raised his hand to shush them. A tense hush fell over them. “As a reminder that even the strongest cannot and shall not overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the third Quarter Quell game, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of Victors in each district.” Richie’s mouth fell open, then slammed shut. He rushed out to the hall bathroom and lost the contents of his stomach into the toilet. “Victors shall present themselves on reaping day, regardless of age, state of health, or situation.” 

Eddie rose from the couch, turned, and ran. He ran through the Victor's Village, past the center of town, into the woods and as far as he could until his knees gave out. The sharp sting of the winter air filled his lungs as he collapsed, sobbing. 

And then, all at once, he stopped. If this was the fight the Capitol and President fucking Gray wanted, he was going to give it to them.

He only made it back as far as the center of town before Richie caught up to him. “You were right,” he said, voice hoarse as though he’d been shouting- which he had. “I’m sorry. I should have listened. You were right. And now-”

“And now, we fight.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is curious-
> 
> Games - Victor - Reaped (Current) - District
> 
> 60 - D. Hagarty - 13 (28) - 9  
> 61 - V. Criss - 18 (31) - 5  
> 62 - G. Keene - 17 (30) - 10  
> 63 - B. Huggins - 14 (26) - 11  
> 64 - A. Mellon - 17 (28) - 1  
> 65 - P. Hockstetter - 18 (28) - 6  
> 66 - H. Bowers - 15 (24) - 2  
> 67 - Bev - 12 (20) - 8  
> 68 - Bill - 15 (22) - 4  
> 69 - Richie - 15 (21) - 12  
> 70 - Eddie - 14 (19) - 12  
> 71 - Mike - 16 (20) - 7  
> 72 - Ben - 16 (19) - 3  
> 73 - Stan - 18 (20) - 7  
> 74 - C. Bowers - 12 (13) - 2  
> 75 - TBD?


End file.
